Chapter Text
Draco
Draco Malfoy sat at the table, tapping his pen erratically. He had places to be and yet, his tutor never seemed to understand that. It was embarrassing enough having one, let alone her always standing him up.
Out of the twelve sessions they’d had together already, she’d cancelled on him three times and showed up late twice. He blamed Weasley. He seemed to think he controlled her, like she was some sort of prize. But the only prize Hermonie Granger would be worthy of is the boobie prize.
He’d made himself laugh. He’d have to remember to tell his mates that one later. Goyle, Blaise and Theo would have a right laugh at that later…if he ever got out of this bloody room.
Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t had any other choice but to take Granger up as a tutor, much to both of their dislikes. But this year, his grades were vital, and she was the smartest kid in the school. If there was anyone who could get him out of this rotten place, then it was her.
After the Great War, it seemed the Wizarding Education system didn’t see their ‘success’ as a worthy final grade. Instead, each and every one of them had to retake their final year, unless they found an apprenticeship…everyone, that was, except for perfect Potter. He had a free pass out of here, yet still hung around like the smell of cat piss.
So, here Draco was, trying to make it through the seventh and final year—again. And at eighteen, it felt ridiculous. All the smug eleven-year-olds coming in and just pissing him off.
He looked around the Room of Requirement. Their agreed meeting point kept them hidden. Their little tête-à-tête, a secret from the nosey buggers roaming the halls of Hogwarts.
Originally they’d been meeting in the library, hidden at the back and away from judgemental eyes. The library had been rebuilt since the battle. Workers remodeled and reshaped the once-grand ceilings to tell the story of all that happened. The display of Nagini coming to its demise with Godric Gryffindor’s sword, thanks to Longbottom’s luck, a constant mockery of his inability to choose the winning side.
All the more reason to move their study sessions here.
The Room of Requirement had shifted into a charming blend of a cosy study and an unpleasant romantic retreat—at least, in Draco’s opinion. A large, glowing fire crackled in a grand stone fireplace, casting flickering golden light across the room. The plush armchairs near it looked inviting, with soft cushions and warm blankets draped over them. Rich, dark wood paneling lined the walls, giving the space a refined, intimate feel, while a thick, intricately woven rug muffled footsteps and added to the snug atmosphere.
A tall, well-stocked bookcase stretched along one wall, its shelves brimming with everything from dusty old tomes to sleek, leather-bound volumes. A charming little study table for two sat near the fire, its polished surface illuminated by a softly glowing lamp. The chairs, annoyingly close together, seemed designed for hushed conversations rather than serious academic work.
To one side, a quaint kitchenette had appeared, complete with a small stove, a delicate tea set, and a selection of snacks—because, apparently, the Room thought studying should include warm drinks and pastries. The scent of something sweet lingered in the air, as if someone had just baked biscuits.
The entire scene exuded warmth and intimacy, perfect for quiet study sessions or whispered discussions over steaming mugs of tea. Draco, however, eyed the setting with something between disgust and irritation, crossing his arms as he took in the flickering candlelight and the utterly unnecessary air of romantic cosiness. ‘Oh, for Merlin’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘Does it have to look like a love nest?’
He started to study the selection of books in the bookcase: volumes of crap by ‘Lockhart the fake’, a book about some witch who’d done something for other women, and a factious story about the notorious ‘Chamber of Secrets’.
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was way past midnight—their agreed meeting time.
Standing up, ready to give up and go, the creak of the door, followed by clicking of heels, had him sitting back down.
Here she came, the girl of his nightmares.
A pile of books slammed on the table opposite him. The cup he’d been using rattling harshly against the wood.
‘Hello to you too, Granger. Nice of you to finally join me.’ He looked up into the dark eyes of the girl he despised more than Potter himself. This specific goody two shoes was a pain in his backside, but right now she was the only one who was going to help him through this year.
‘Listen, I’m only here to make sure I have the extra credits for my N.E.W.Ts. I’m not here because I want to be.’
‘Ouch!’ He relaxed back in his chair, crossing an ankle over his knee and swinging an arm onto the back of the one next to him. ‘A bit defensive already? I haven’t even unleashed my charm on you yet.’
She rolled her eyes, collapsing in the chair opposite. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
He watched as she aggressively opened the book, turning the pages with enough force to rip them out. Lifting a hand over his mouth, he tried to hide the smirk. There was something enticing when she’d lost her cool. Like a firework just before it exploded—brilliant, unpredictable, and slightly dangerous. She huffed, her brows furrowed in frustration as she glared at the text, as if sheer determination could force the answers to appear.
Draco crossed his arms, watching her with an infuriating sort of amusement. ‘You do realise the book didn’t personally offend you, right?’ he drawled, tilting his head.
Slamming her hands on the table, she leaned forward her eyes burning into him and all he wanted to do was poke the fire a little more and see if he could make her burst into flames.
‘What?’
He shrugged, his demeanor remaining cool and calm. ‘Nothing. Just wondering who pissed on your parade.’
‘You’re a dick! Do you know that?’
A deep chuckle left him as he shuffled forward in his seat. ‘Well in that case, you know where to come if Weasel isn’t doing his job properly.’
She huffed and mentioned something that sounded an awful lot like wanker, as she continued to flick through the pages. Hermione was never accommodating towards him, but this was worse. She was full of hostility today.
Draco studied her for a moment, wondering what he could do to make her snap. She was so tightly wound the release would be cataclysmic. Then again, if she got too pissed off then maybe she’d bugger off and leave him alone—tell the professor he’d passed the tutoring and they’d never have to do this again.
Slowly, as to not draw her attention, he reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his wand. If he could just…
She slammed the book closed on the table. ‘Don’t. Even. Dare!’
‘Don’t know what you’re on about.’ He would have added a Mudblood there, but unfortunately such language was now an instant expulsion from Hogwarts. Apparently, McGonagall as a headmaster was a lot stricter than Dumbledore, a lot more tetchy too.
‘I’m not in the mood, Malfoy. Let's just get this done so I can go.’
‘Someone’s got their knickers in a twist.’
Hermione shot him a warning glare, causing him to hold back his laughter and instead feign surrender. ‘Following your lead, M’Lady.’
‘Were you born an asshole or has it just developed with age?’
He chuckled. ‘I’m like fine wine.’
‘What? Overpriced, overhyped, and guaranteed to leave everyone with a headache?’
His eyebrows rose as he leaned back in his seat. She was quick today, something must have really pissed her off.
‘Still annoyed Potter gets a free pass, or is Weasel struggling to get it up?’ Draco moved forward, his elbows resting on the table and he spoke in a low, deep whisper. ‘Talk in the Dungeon is that it’s only the size of a peanut anyway.’
The stinging sensation took over before the sound of a hearty slap echoed through the Room. He licked his lower lip, catching the tang of iron on his tongue. How delightful!
‘Why are you such a prick?’
Gently, he wiped the back of his hand against the crack on his lip. ‘I was born this way, baby.’
She scoffed, moving the book from the top of the pile and pulling the one out from underneath it. She began rooting through it again, still no indication of what exactly she was looking for.
‘What are we looking at today?’ he said, watching her hands turn page after page. He almost felt sorry for the binding the way she was tugging at it.
‘Time travel,’ she muttered, continuing to keep her focus on her book. ‘I’m going to show you how to travel back a couple of minutes with a time turner.’ She pulled the object out from under her shirt and began to turn it around.
‘So, we’re going to go back in time and what? Make you likable?’
She began muttering under her breath, maybe an incantation or something. But he could tell he was getting under her skin. Her neck was dotted with little pink patches, disappearing down into her shirt and probably down her chest. Her fingers turned the hourglass a little more fiercely, her voice growing deeper. Huskier.
‘Or better yet,’ he continued, ‘put you in Slytherin so you don’t end up being one of Potter’s minions.’
Her voice hitched as she sucked in a breath, but she continued reading the incantation, the turner twisting in between her fingers.
‘Maybe, if you’d been in Slytherin, you would have met a real man.’
A purple mist came from the necklace, a hurricane of glitter and sparks, growing higher and higher. With a push, Draco stood, moving back from the table watching the wild tornado take over their area of the Room, the fire slowly distinguishing and taking with it the light.
‘Granger, what have you done?’
Her eyes were full of fear as she looked up from the page.
‘You made me mis-chant the spell. I don’t know what this is.’
A mist of purple took over them, the Room disappearing through the thickness and turning everything black.